


New Beginning

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Katsuko, for the TF Gift Exchange 2012</p><p>Request: Cliffjumper will forever be my favorite Bot, so I'd like for him to get a little love .....</p><p>Set in Season 3. Cliffjumper has trouble coming to terms with events following the Unicron episode. Bumblebee, having been given something of Huffer’s which was recovered by Daniel from the Autobot mausoleum, seeks out Cliffjumper, who he’s always admired. The results surprise them both.</p><p>Notes/Warnings: Cliffjumper needed love – I wanted to find a reason for some fairly intense stuff and so have used the canon deaths in the G1 movie. These are not described, and are strictly only according to canon. The first part of this is probably more depressive than I intended. But it definitely gets happier! </p><p>SMUTWARNING: this has sticky, tactile and p&p explicit mechsex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katsuko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katsuko/gifts).



**I**

  
The dream was a perfect re-enactment, a precise recall of the day the Decepticons struck. The same day that Unicron also made his presence so unforgettably felt.  
  
“Need backup! Urgent!”  
  
Cliffjumper could only stare helplessly at the Earth image on the videocomlink as shells rained around his friend, isolated in what appeared to be indiscriminate Decepticon fire. “Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, anyone?” Huffer wailed.  
  
His plaintive voice was interspersed with the squealing graunch of metal, the sound of falling objects as around Cliffjumper Moonbase One began to buckle, unable to withstand the force of Unicron. But the red minibot remained riveted to the screen. He was darned if he was leaving his friend on the comm, his friend who - apparently – Ultra Magnus had not even had the decency to tell of his own departure from Earth.  
  
“I’m not on location!” he yelled. “But hang in there, Huffer! I’ll get help.”  
  
 _“Hurry …”_  
  
Frantically Cliffjumper punched numbers into the commlink. He had one last glimpse of Huffer, a pack of nerves at the best of times, now terrified and alone. Then the screen flickered, and Autobot City was online.  
  
But bedlam clearly erupted there, too. Siren sounds, the clamour of mechs and transformation noises blended with Moonbase One’s demise. Oh yeah, things were bad on Earth. Autobot City was transforming.   
  
But that changed nothing. “Ultra Magnus?” Cliffjumper yelled. _“Anyone?”_  
  
Metal ripped around him, as the supporting structure began to give. A loud crack, and Cliffjumper sidestepped fast to avoid the gash which appeared in the floor. There were more crashes, then Jazz’s voice. “Cliff, c’mon! We gotta go!”   
  
On the screen, Ultra Magnus’ face appeared, a grim reflection of the obvious him. “You gotta get Huffer.” Cliffjumper yelled. He’s on his own!”  
  
“What the heck ….?” Magnus’ optics widened at the image obviously confronting him. “Look uh - the stragglers will be all right. Kup and Hot Rod are out there. They’ll find him. But - Moonbase One ….”  
  
“Never mind this pit-slaggin’ hole! He needs help NOW!”  
  
The screen fritzed, going blank and breaking up as the floor gave way. As an ugly ragged hole appeared in the wall, he felt himself grabbed There was a roar as everything rushed towards it; and Cliffjumper was going too, sliding helplessly, unable to resist the colossal force.  
  
“Hang in there!” yelled Jazz. But he couldn’t hang on, couldn’t make it, was getting tugged upwards and into space. And now he saw it in all its fantastically horrible glory, the yawning evil mouth of Unicron.  
  
“You’re gonna get it, monster planet!” he yelled. “Don’t think we’re gonna take it that easy!”  
  
…………  
  
The scene changed. He had recovered enough for discharge from medbay but was still numb from the trauma on Unicron, the capture, the trial, the so near destruction in the acid baths and worst of all, the terror, his breaking down at the realization that he simply could not do anything.  
  
That was exceeded only by trying to hide the shame following the rescue by the human, and the arrival of Rodimus Prime.   
  
Fixed but still broken, he shuffled from the medbay, steered by his faithful friend, reeling at the very fact that he, Cliffjumper, needed this. But right now Huffer was a welcome comfort in an empty, humiliating universe.  
  
“Look after him,” First Aid’s voice was sad and sympathetic. “He’ll recover. But it will take time. And love.”   
  
“I will,” Huffer assured him.   
  
“Let’s get you home,” Huffer said. “And that’s where you’re gonna stay.”  
  
Cliffjumper lay on the berth and Huffer’s arms closed around him, the warm and softly vibrating panels a comforting reminder that, despite the Decepticons, despite Galvatron, despite Unicron, they both still existed. “No more campaigns for either of us. Our heroism days are over,” Huffer said.   
  
“Maybe,” Cliffjumper murmured, although he could not really believe that, did not want to. “I guess we’re not doomed for now,” he growled.   
  
But then, a curious contentment to acquiesce came over him. Maybe he really had come home. Certainly, the eons of taking advantage of this self sacrificing friend, whose value he had only begun to realize on the latter days of Earth, were over.   
  
…………  
  
Cliffjumper stirred in recharge. In the dingy room which was now his home, he reached for Huffer, resolved to care more, to show his appreciation, as his spark filled with and affection.   
  
But his arms met with space. He flopped on his front, Huffer’s warm panels fast turning to the cold hardness of the berth, the other minibot evaporating into nothingness.   
  
Cliffjumper jerked online, his senses snapping into stark wakefulness. They met with an empty room, darkness and dankness, the bleakness of solitude, the only sound a steady drip of water from the washroom of the run down apartment.  
  
Because of course, Huffer was not here. He was dead, had not made it back to Autobot City, along with all the other Autobots whose sparks went out that day. Just as Brawn had not made it off the shuttle, along with Prowl and Ratchet and Ironhide. They were gone. Only their frames remained, drifting endlessly through space in that Primus awful mausoleum.   
  
No. Not even that remained. That had blown up. Flown into a star, scattering their remains to the universe.  
  
Had that made the pain less? At first, maybe, that they were free. But still Cliffjumper’s spark burned, his chest aching with wounds worse than any he had ever sustained in battle. And the gnawing emptiness was every bit as poignant as when the appalling reality had first become apparent.  
  
Cliffjumper reached for the bedside cabinet. Extracting a cube of high grade, he took a hefty swig. Then he lay back down, offlining his optics, feeling the fiery liquid burn a welcome path to his chamber.   
  
It was a friend. From the horrors of Unicron, the agony of loss, the travesty of the new order - that traitor Magnus , the wannabe Rodimus, and all the others who had already forgotten or simply didn’t care - it was his only saviour.  
  
……….  
  
 **II**  
  
In the gloomy corridor, Bumblebee hovered under the neon light. He stared at the tatty door. Recalling the data, he checked the address. Yes, no doubt about it; Cliffjumper lived here.   
  
Six Earth months had passed since their return to Cybertron. Remarkably well recovered from the ordeal on Unicron, Bee’s mind nevertheless drifted often back to the cages, the sharkticon pit and the conveyor belt, to Daniel’s miraculous appearance.   
  
“As an optimist, you are naturally resilient. But you need to share the experience,” First Aid had counselled him crisply. “Consider making contact with others who were present.”  
  
Jazz, grieving over Prowl and too bound up in his new ‘thing’ with Blaster had not been an option. And Spike, forbidden by Carly to mention the topic, was hardly appropriate either. Cliffjumper, on the other hand, was a better proposition. In fact, he would probably welcome it. Had he not lost two fellow minibots, as well as Gears and Windcharger who had moved to another quadrant?   
  
And would this not be a chance, also, for Bee to make good the situation on Earth, his estrangement from the minibots, their perception that he considered himself ‘better than them?’  
  
Yet, since Unicron, Bee had seen Cliffjumper only twice. Once had been to collect some possessions from the old Ark headquarters, where he had left without a word. The other was for an interview as Ambassador to Delta Pavonus Four, the feline humanoid frontier world. But Cliffjumper had failed to attend.   
  
He hadn’t even shown at the interment ceremony, the launching of the Autobot Mausoleum.  
  
“He took Huffer and Brawn’s deaths kinda hard,” Hound had said. “And Gears and Windcharger going – maybe he felt betrayed? But don’t you go worryin’ about Cliffjumper. He’s a tough little trooper. He’ll pull through! After all, that’s all over now, ain’t it? ‘Reckon he’ll bounce back in here soon, tryin’ to run the show!”  
  
But Cliffjumper hadn’t.   
  
There was still no answer to the comm. Bee tried knocking. No answer either.   
  
A chill draft blew along the passage, and the neon lights flickered. Bee shivered. He was conscious of a small weight in his arm compartment, the bi-optical visor Daniel had found in the mausoleum. The visor was unquestionably Huffer’s.   
  
He thought back to that dismal day: The looming ugliness of the Mausoleum. The loading of the caskets; the not wanting to think of what lay in them. The solemn and silent crowd, the Simpurrian blessing, the last paying of Cybertronian respects; the scattering of flowers at the launch, a touch the humans added to their tears.   
  
Bee remembered the memorial after. Many of Prime’s Earth contingent had been unable to face it, having said their goodbyes. They had left, too overwhelmed and exhausted to endure any more. Many remaining had been strangers. Bee thought unhappily of the false cheer, the awkward conversations quickly turning to other, easier topics.   
  
He, Bumblebee, had remained, meeting and greeting, making small talk, modestly telling of the escape from Cybertron, stoically upholding his role as Ambassador to Earth, and Abraxus, and Junk, and every other representative and committee role he held in the complicated life he had woven which maybe - it occurred to him now - was his own way of trying to forget events not as un-damaging as he’d thought.  
  
Now, Bee wished he hadn’t stayed; wished he had gone instead to look for Cliffjumper. Had he really left things this long? After all - Bee shifted as his circuits tingled a little - it wasn’t as though Bee hadn’t noticed him on Earth. Hadn’t admired him greatly, in fact; been secretly envious of Huffer, despite the red minibot’s indifference.   
  
There was still no answer. Bumblebee’s spirits descended. _Maybe he knows its me, and doesn’t want to see me_ , he thought. _I’m sure he resented me on Earth, my position, my favour with Optimus. He would even more now. I’ve known this. It’s why I have not been to see him._  
  
As Bumblebee dithered, the door next to Cliffjumper‘s opened and a head peered out. “What you want?” Chipped paint coated pinched looking faceplates. Faintly, Bumblebee smelled high grade.  
  
Bee pulled himself up, cheered once more by the pride he felt in his gleaming yellow panels, the prominent Autobot insignia. One thing that could never, ever be said was that he let the side down, in any way at all. “Have you seen the occupant here?” he asked politely.  
  
The mech looked him over, in a way Bumblebee did not much like. He snorted. “According to my tenant data he’s in, but I ain’t seen ‘im,” he growled. “He didn’t answer before. If you catch up with the fragger, tell him if he doesn’t pay his rent, he’s out.”  
  
Bumblebee thought vaguely that were he a Decepticon, he would have performed some action worthy of the contempt this mech deserved. But instead, programmed as he was to be courteous and cheery, the yellow minibot smiled. “Perhaps you have the entry code?” he suggested. “And maybe I can help you get the rent?”  
  
The mech grunted. “If you like! But I’ll punch it in from inside. Gotta a lot of trouble with tenants gettin’ aggro.” An unpleasant leer appeared on his faceplates. “You can come an’ help me if you want!”  
  
“No thank you!” Bumblebee said.  
  
He succumbed to a slight dismay. When it came to types like this, no doubt incumbent in this hovel for the whole time of their conflict, he was forced to admit that he sometimes wondered what they’d fought for. He didn’t blame the tenants at all.  
  
………………….  
  
Whoever was comming was persistent. The alert was piercing the haze of inebriation, overriding the ‘reject ’ function. And now, Cliffjumper stirred irritably. It would be that landlord.   
  
Something of the minibot’s former self returned. He growled into the berth. How could he pay the rent when he hadn’t gotten any money? He’d signed for social security this week, and he’d told the fragger enough times, he’d pay the arrears when he got his bi-ornly allowance.   
  
The mech was an aft anyway - claimed to be some kinda veteran, but Cliffjumper reckoned that was pit. And Cliffjumper had not missed the way the mech looked him up and down, the fidgety fingers, the unwelcome, rippling energy field; the optics which lingered on certain parts of his anatomy, suggesting that payment of the rent by ‘other means’ was far from out of the question.  
  
Cliffjumper extinguished the comm without even checking the identity, annoyed to note that a headache was establishing itself. And now, there was a banging at the door. Frag, the aft was determined! Bringing his senses online, he heaved himself to a sitting position. Then he reached again for the high grade.  
  
But before he could take a swig - he could not believe it – the door was opening, and somebody was coming in.   
  
Cliffjumper scowled. He had no doubt _why_ they were coming in. And whilst he may have a few ‘issues’ just now, he was still Cliffjumper. There was no way he was gonna put up with it. A sharp pang in his spark reminded him that he owed Huffer and Brawn as much.  
  
In the cabinet drawer was a gun, a not inadvisable measure in a hole like this. Cliffjumper primed it. He might just wait for this idiot to creep through the door, then shoot him. After all that had happened, what the hell? Going to jail would only be one step worse. At least there’d be no rent.   
  
……………………….  
  
Bumblebee’s intakes took in the stale air of the apartment, tiny and cramped. Visible in the neon striplight’s dimness, cubes and cartons littered a small table spilling on to the dirty floor between two chairs, the only other furniture in the room. In one corner, water oozed and something crablike was making its way up the wall. An oppressive, unhappy silence prevailed.  
  
The ordinarily cheerful mech again turned gloomy again; and now, he had a prickling sense of unease. Some mechs had simply ‘not coped’ after their return to Cybertron. Ones who had been through far less than he and Cliffjumper had not been adverse to crashing their systems, extinguishing their own sparks.   
  
Bumblebee noticed with alarm that boxes were stacked to one side, evidently never unpacked. But no, he told himself, surely Cliffjumper would not do that? He was - well - Cliffjumper. Something like that, he would see as an act of weakness.   
  
And besides, there were signs of habitation. The liquid which had spilled form the cubes looked fresh. Bumblebee’s heard the drip of water, saw through open door a washrack. It looked recently used.  
  
There was another door, and presumably this was the berthroom. A muffled sound, like a drawer opening, came from within. It was followed by a click.   
  
Relieved, Bumblebee moved to the door. But then, he froze. Pointing straight at him was the barrel of a very large gun. Attached to the gun was a familiar red mech.  
  
“Hey, wait!” Bumblebee threw up his hands; but the gun had already fired. He dived as the shot missed him, tearing into a box which promptly exploded, its contents scattering liberally.   
  
Then there was silence, broken only the sound of the dripping washrack as smoke rose from the charred contents. The gun lowered. Bumblebee peered up from under the table.   
  
_“Bumblebee?”_ Cliffjumper looked astounded. Then his face darkened. “What the frag are you doin’ here?”  
  
……………………  
  
Still groggy, Cliffjumper turned off the hot water jet and activated the noisy, inefficient drier. Whatever else, at least Bumblebee would not go back to his sycophantic nest - his favour currying with the mechs who called themselves leaders - with tales of how bad his fellow minibot looked.   
  
Now, however, angry thoughts again invaded Cliffjumper’s processor. His fellow minibot! Bee was not worthy of such a title. Superior and distant on Earth, ‘in’ with the humans, using every opportunity to promote himself, he had used the whole Unicron ‘episode’ to advance his career. By all accounts at the Mausoleum ceremony he’d laughed and joked, bragged about Sharkticons and acid vats. He’d probably even made out it was him and not that human who rescued them.  
  
“I was worried about you.” He‘d said after Cliffjumper had put the gun away.   
  
Worried! Had Bumblebee been even remotely concerned? Had he even grieved about Brawn and Huffer, or any of them? No! He had been too busy fraternising, networking, taking on ‘new challenges.’ Undoubtedly, now, he was one of the ‘inner circle.’   
  
Not that he wasn’t before. Not that he hadn’t always considered himself ‘above’ other minibots; so much so that Cliffjumper had drawn an inevitable conclusion: he did not want to be seen as one himself.   
  
Cliffjumper let the hot air blast into his seams. At least his headache had diminished. He wondered what Bee had, in fact, come for. It was too much to hope that he felt remorseful, guilty about the past. No – this would be another bureaucratic posting offer - like that patronising gesture with Delta Pavonus Four. Who the hell would wanna work for a load of cats?  
  
And Cliffjumper wasn’t. Or humans, or Magnus and Rodimus. Not with their dismissive attitude over Huffer and Brawn, their ordering of the Mausoleum without even a thought as to whether its potential occupants would want the thing. Which, as it happened, was totally contra to minibot culture. Bee’s failure to see that said it all.  
  
Cliffjumper stepped out of the drier, and caught an image of himself in the dirty mirror. At least he was still a _looker;_ in fact, he looked better than he had for a while. At least Bee and that landlord between them had gotten him out of the berth. Perhaps it was time he pulled himself together, made his fallen comrades proud. A piece of his mind to Bee might be just the ticket.  
  
With this in mind, Cliffjumper strode into the lounge.  
  
………….  
  
Whilst he was waiting, Bumblebee opened his arm compartment and brought out the purple visor. Splashing sounds came from the washrack. He studied it.   
  
He thought of Daniel ‘s words.” I don’t know how I got it,” the human boy had trembled under his father’s arm. “It was so scary. That dead mech fell out, and I just ran. And then, the Decepticons were gone, and Optimus Prime was back but he’d gone all weird, and we were on that shuttle, and then I found this in my hand.” He’d looked at Bee with very wide blue eyes. “Should I give it to Ultra Magnus?”  
  
Bumblebee had stared at it. “No,” he’d said. “I’ll take care of it.”   
  
But why had he kept it? Such property was, indeed, supposed to be handed over. Was it because he had hoped to restore some connection to the other minibots, some frail recompense for what he’d missed on Earth? Or was it - Cliffjumper recoiled inside - because of what had happened to Brawn.  
  
As the drier’s blast sounded from the washroom, the minibot was overcome with guilt. He should have given this to Cliffjumper. Especially knowing that Cliffjumper and Huffer were ‘close.’ Well, maybe now, he would. It might count for something. And it might make the universe less lonely than it suddenly seemed, his fine career not an empty, minibotless path.  
  
The washroom went quiet. Presently, Cliffjumper emerged. He looked better and - Bee’s circuits tingled - as attractive as he always had on Earth. But his mood, clearly, hadn’t changed. “Whatever your business, you’d better make it snappy!” he growled.  
  
Bumblebee swallowed, hard. “I have something for you.”  
  
……………….  
  
They sat at a café in the central boulevard of New Iacon. The distant sound of traffic mingled with footsteps in the mall outside and the low hubbub of voices and trade. Sounding above this, much clanging and banging echoed, testament to the large scale construction works, the rebuilding of the city which went on all around.  
  
Cliffjumper scowled. This wasn’t the Iacon he knew. He watched as a large crane lowered a brightly hued spire on to what had once been the old Bank of Iacon, a garish mockery, a travesty above the older, surviving roofs. No wonder he didn’t go out more.   
  
Well he’d leave, soon; not sit here with a mech who embraced this rubbish, who only pretended to care, had created a moment’s sentimentality by being given something he should never have had anyway.   
  
“Where did you get that?” he had said of the visor, unprepared for the new agony which gripped his spark. He had listened as Bumblebee explained. Then he’d stuffed the object into his arm. “If that’s all, I think I’ll be going now,” he‘d mumbled. “Gotta go get my rent.”  
  
But Bumblebee had caught his arm. “Can we talk?” he’d asked.  
  
And it was the last thing he’d wanted, least of all with this mech. But there was something about the look in Bumblebee’s optics, a pained look, almost desperation, maybe even a longing for – kinship. It had stirred him, made him think that whilst the others were gone, this minibot was still here. And the fact that he’d come now reprieved him. Just a little.  
  
“Not here!” he’d mumbled, thinking it already amazing that after the gunshot, the landlord hadn’t appeared.  
  
Now, he wished he hadn’t come. Already, he was irritated again. “Darned if I know where they get the money for all this new fangled pit!” he’d muttered.  
  
Bumblebee’s optics had flickered. Cliffjumper had thought he’d read in them a trace of nostalgia. But no - that insufferable cheeriness appeared. “With all bad things comes something good,” Bumblebee chirped. “The Unicron war put Cybertron on the map, opened doors. We have treaties now with other worlds. Its really quite exciting. Even with Galvatron around.”  
  
Crossly, Cliffjumper took a drink. Even the energon tasted bitter, phoney, not at all like the old brews. He would not even dignify Bee with a reply. “What else did you want to talk about?” He supposed he could find that out. Then he would leave.  
  
Bumblebee was looking at him, his optics very blue. He took a deep intake. “Ultra Magnus said …” he began.  
  
“Forget it!” Cliffjumper exploded. “I ain’t workin’ for Magnus! After he wouldn’t help Huffer? Spare me, Bee!”  
  
Bee looked away. A shadow crossed his face. Pangs echoed again in Cliffjumper. He pushed them away. Why feel sorry for this mech, this ‘other’ minibot who had always distanced himself, still preferred big mechs, flyers and even humans to his own kind?   
  
Around, the noises of the foreign city went on; but there was silence at the table. Bumblebee’s cheery veneer was gone; he sat there, a picture of abject dejection. Cliffjumper sighed. “Look - I appreciate the visor,” he said. “But if that’s ‘it’ then there’s nothin’ to talk about. We ain’t got nothin’ in common, Bee. It’s best I go.”  
  
He went to make a move, but Bee caught his arm. “Cliffjumper please ….” His optics were a piercing blue, deep and urgent. “I was in Unicron too,” he said. “I was so scared. But you were there. And I thought ‘if anyone can get though this, it will be Cliffjumper.’”   
  
Unpleasant memories coursed through Cliffjumper’s processor. “Look, I don’t really wanna talk about this …” he began. But Bee’s grip tightened.   
  
“Look - I know we didn’t talk much on Earth, or before that,” he said. “I know you think I’m spoiled and I’ve had it easy. Well in some ways I have. I felt on Earth like you were all so amazing. I felt like I didn’t belong with you. And you – Cliffjumper – you were especially amazing. In Unicron, you gave me strength, Cliffie, just as you did all through the war, so many times.”  
  
His look was imploring. “Please Cliffjumper …”  
  
Despite all his former thoughts, a warmth crept into Cliffjumper’s spark. Why he wondered. Was it that thing that Bee was, whatever they both might think, another minibot? Or was it that somebody had faith in him when he had lost so much in himself? Well, that was misplaced. “I wasn’t much use,” he muttered. “And I was even less use before that. I should have been there for Huffer.”  
  
And now he had said it, this hit Cliffjumper like a sledgehammer. All the hiding and avoidance, the wallowing, the anger at the others, at Magnus, Hot Rod, Kup, even Prime for not being on the shuttle. It was about the whole dreadful, disgraceful ordeal. But most, it was to hide this one fact. “I went to Moonbase One because I wanted a crack at the Decepticons,” he said. “I should have stayed on Earth.”  
  
Cliffjumper shuttered his optics. Memories of Unicron, and of the news afterwards came flooding back. He felt dizzy, as though not real. And through it all shone his own fear, his ineptitude, and worst of all the undeniable, stark fact that Huffer had died because of him. “I should have been on that Mausoleum,” he whispered.  
  
Darkness seemed to close around him, engulfing like a fog, his failure more desolate than the blackness of oblivion. But he felt a hand take his, tentative at first but then firm and reassuring. He clutched it, an anchor of hope in an empty sea. He opened his optics and recoiled in surprise; for Bumblebee’s optics glowed, a determination burning in them. A fierce insistence. Courageous, stubborn – and very minibot.   
  
“No!” he said. “No way, Cliffjumper! Don’t you dare say that! You did an amazing job on Moonbase One. Just as you did so many times. If it hadn’t been for you then what happened would have happened long before - just like heaps of mechs would have died at other times. And there was nothing anyone could have done about Unicron. So you just stop blaming yourself for that!”  
  
He hung his head. “If it was anybody’s fault it was mine!” he said wretchedly. “I was supposed to be scanning for infiltration. Somehow Lazerbeak got through.” He looked at Cliffjumper, and the anguish was back. “And there was something else,” he cried. “I should have been on Moonbase One. I should have piloted that shuttle. It should have been me, not Brawn, who went down!”  
  
Tears spilled from his optics. Cliffjumper for one of the few times in his life, was lost for words. It wasn’t just hearing first Bee’s extraordinary self effacement and his own praise, and then this ‘lecture.’ More, this self blame; this, what Bee said. It was – ridiculous.  
  
Cliffjumper gaped at him. “Don’t be daft!” he said. “Lazerbeak came to our base. And as for Brawn ….” A smile crept on to his face. He chuckled. “Brawn would have flown that shuttle whether you’d been there or not. I couldn’t keep him away from the thing.”  
  
……………  
  
 **III**  
  
They were still in the café. Behind Bumblebee, the café owner started to tidy up, tucking the chairs under the table. Outside it grew murky, the lights from the shops bright now in the Cybertronian dusk.   
  
Bee had wanted to talk more and, to his own amazement, Cliffjumper had wanted to listen. So he had sat there as Bee talked, stammering out so much Cliffjumper had not known: The expectations on him as an adopted, Iacon raised minibot. The fear of failure, the anguish that because of his origins he was not a minibot, and yet not a big mech either, caught between two worlds, the fear of being a nonentity giving him always the need to prove himself.   
  
In humans, he explained, he had found beings who did not judge his differences, but who liked him for himself, had given him for the first time a sense of identity.  
  
Cliffjumper had had no idea. His spark had pulsed, softly as Bee continued, and again there was that thought: The others have gone. They’re gone, but he’s here. And he was forced to conclude something else: that Bee hadn’t not made himself ‘one of them.’ He hadn’t been included. Long before Earth.   
  
“I was more scared in Unicron than you can imagine,” Bee was saying. “And I thought it was the end. I just didn’t show it, just like I didn’t lots of time on Earth. Like always, I put on a brave face. I just carried on.”  
  
“And I couldn’t stop thinking of Brawn,” he added wretchedly. “Then since we were rescued and I found out what happened, I didn’t wanna think of that. So I just did all this stuff, anything to avoid it.” He shook his head miserably. “And I kept the visor. And I didn’t come and see you – even though I really was worried. I’m sorry for everything.”  
  
Outside, the streetlights came on. Cliffjumper felt the sharp coldness, the mark of aphelion peak which signified this point in the Cybertronian cycle. He remembered how Gears had bemoaned this weather, Huffer shivering as his denta chattered. Brawn and Gears had told him not to be a whimp. Cliffjumper had laughingly agreed, whilst Windcharger stuffed himself with the usual quantities of oilcakes.   
  
An ache swept through his spark. Bee had never been a part of things; yet had not lost faith in his own kind and was brave and determined himself, a true Autobot - and a true minibot. Cliffjumper saw Huffer’s face again, felt the devastating let down which always went with the dream. But inside were stirrings, a nascent beginning. Huffer had gone. But he had Bee.   
  
Perhaps it was time for things to change. Maybe his actions hadn’t been exemplary, but the way he’d carried on lately? It hardly made everything right. And now he thought about it, he was forced to admit he could imagine what Brawn, Gears, Huffer and even Wincharger would have had to say about his behaviour.   
  
Cliffjumper‘s hand squeezed the other minibot’s. He smiled firmly. “I think its time we were done with apologies,” he said. “And carving ourselves up, thinking what could or couldn’t have been different. Can’t change the past but you can the future and you …” he smiled firmly. “What you’ve been up to lately’s a darned site more likely to change it than what I’ve been doing. Or not doing, you might say.”  
  
Happiness flooded into Bee’s optics. “You think so?”  
  
But Cliffjumper did not answer. Leaning across instead, he planted a firm kiss on Bumblebee’s lips, lingering even as he caught the café owner’s gaze, heard the mech say “C’mon now! Gotta close up.”   
  
He pulled back. “Let’s go,” he said.  
  
……………………  
  
 **IV**  
  
“Inside! We gotta get inside!” Bumblebee giggled. But Cliffjumper didn’t want to go inside. He wanted Bee here, against the wall, outside the Dome apartment. He pressed hard, grinding his panels against him.   
  
It was strange how things turned out. There he’d been, all angry and wishing Bee ill, and now all he wanted – well – something somewhat different.   
  
It was, of course, all to do with the minibot thing; although Cliffjumper had thought affectionately that Huffer would have approved. He had recalled how Huffer had used to tease him, giggling about the ‘perfect match.’ He’d felt guilty, remembering his dismissive responses. It was this which had finally decided him.  
  
“Let’s go Somewhere that isn’t that hellhole I live in,” he’d said.  
  
“My place!” Bee had said.  
  
They’d kissed again before leaving, and held hands on the way. Then, when they stood in the crowded subway to the Dome District and Bee was unwittingly crushed against him, Cliffjumper had felt throbbing panels, the warmth from Bee’s chest and he’d tingled, the long absence of closeness taking him by surprise. He’d only just been able to restrain an energy flare.  
  
He’d sensed the same in Bee. And indeed, as soon as they’d gotten off the subway, Bee had pulled him into a side alley and drawn him into a kiss, the most passionate so far. This time Cliffjumper hadn’t held back. He’d kissed Bee enthusiastically, releasing energy to scatter liberally over the other minibot. Sparks had crackled. Bee had shivered delightedly. ‘Let’s get back!” he’d said.  
  
Now it seemed like a very long time that anyone had been this close. And Bee felt so good. He writhed back against Cliffjumper, metal squealing. Cliffjumper kissed him deeply, exploring the inside of Bee’s mouth with his glossa, allowing his hands to eagerly explore Bee’s plating as Bee’s arms went around his neck.  
  
Bee shuddered. “Oh frag!” he said. “I’m close already. I’m sorry!” But Cliffjumper wasn’t. Bee ‘s responsiveness was exquisite – in a way he never would have imagined. His own engine revved, the charge picking up, another flare scattering out. He felt Bee’s intake’s hitch, their pace accelerate, felt Bee’s pump beat faster in time with his own. The pressure rose in his conduits, his interface panels burning. Close to the edge himself, he fondled Bee’s horn.  
  
“Oh frag!” Bee overloaded instantly, clutching at Cliffjumper, swathes of energy crackling out. Waves surged from the yellow minibot; and Cliffjumper had intended to wait, staving it off until they got inside and he could release properly through a connection. Instead, he overloaded himself, the blue swathe of his own release engulfing Bee as his connections fritzed and his spike discharged with warm liquid. ‘Oh frag!” he murmured, pulling Bee to him and burying the lips in his helm.  
  
Nearby, a door banged and there were the sound of footsteps. “Cliffjumper,” Bee said weakly between pants, “We gotta go inside!”   
  
“Yeah… we do!” In a daze, Cliffjumper released Bee so he could get the door mechanism.  
  
………………….  
  
Bee’s faceplates wore a rosy glow as he fetched drinks. Still stunned from the passion outside, Cliffjumper leaned back in the comfy chair. Temporarily satiated, he surveyed the surroundings.   
  
Whatever else might go with working for Magnus, the mech had not spared any credits for the comfort of his team. The place was spacious and airy, open plan in tasteful shades of grey metal. Large chairs surrounded a stylish drinks table. Through one door Cliffjumper glimpsed an elaborate washroom. He could see the edge of what was obviously a very large berth in the other.  
  
Glancing at the table, Cliffjumper noticed a picture. He picked it up.   
  
It was the minibot contingent on Earth. There were Brawn and Windcharger looking poised and stoic, Gears, his arms folded uncompromisingly. In the centre were himself and Huffer. He had tried to deliver a ‘tough’ grin, whilst Huffer smiled shyly beside him.  
  
Cliffjumper remembered that day. It was soon after they ‘d discovered Dinobot Island. The ache returned to his spark. He sat holding it, staring at the images of himself and Huffer.   
  
“It’s a nice photo, isn’t it?” he had not heard Bee come in. “I’ve got lots of you guys. Would you like to see?”  
  
Cliffjumper put it down, overwhelmed by the need to connect again, to feel alive and whole and not haunted by the faces of the dead, beautiful in his memory though they would always be.. “In time,” he said, standing up and putting his arms around Bee. “First things first.”  
  
…………  
  
Bee kissed him, his spark surging with the need for more of what they’d had outside. Never in his life had Bee had anything like it. He longed to take Cliffjumper, go all the way, show him how much he appreciated him, understood what he had been through; show how well he could make up for the long time estranged.   
  
Cliffjumper pressed against him and Bee felt the heat form his chest, sensed deep passions and emotions. His optics fell on the picture, and his spark surged with joy; for the first time ever he was a part of Cliffjumper’s life. Feeling powerful, wanted, he broke from the kiss and steered Cliffjumper eagerly to the berthroom.   
  
Cliffjumper lay back on the berth, and Bee lay on top of him. He gazed for a few moments into Cliffjumper’s optics. The only sound the rasping of their intakes. Then Cliffjumper’s chest plates burned hotly and Bee stroked his face, kissing him again. Cliffjumper moaned, his energy field flaring, shivering as one leg wrapped around Bee.   
  
Bee absorbed the flare, shivering as sensation penetrated deep into his circuits. The kiss became hungrier, he felt hands on his back, his aft, sliding under panels. The hand on Cliffjumper’s face moved up caressed Cliffjumper’s horn and Cliffjumper moaned, shuddering under him, clutching the edge of his pelvic armour.   
  
Cliffjumper’s chest began to throb, a deep steady pulse which shimmied through Bee’s systems. His own spark synchronised and his panels burned, his spike pressurised and Cliffjumper’s loins heated; and then everything was pulsing, pumping in rhythm. They both moaned as sparks flew between rapidly heating panels.  
  
Bumblebee deepened the kiss, writhing on Cliffjumper, his mouth hungrier as he wanted more. Cliffjumper’s field flared again, Bee’s energy level surged, his conventional panel popping open and his connector snaking out, sparking against Cliffjumper’s thigh. “Nice,” Cliffjumper said. Then it was being held and fondled and Bee cried out, arching back as the universe went hazy in the sudden urgent rush.  
  
“Oh please, I need to connect,” he rasped, his own hand reaching down to find Cliffjumper’s port, metal scraping as their bodies moved together.  
  
………………..  
  
That was nice, Bee on top. And the way he was moving, the noises he was making as Cliffjumper fondled his connector – even better. Somewhere an indicator registered ‘ninety eighty per cent compatibility.’ Why had it taken him so long to find Bee?  
  
Bee’s hand was wandering over his hip, brushing his own panel. Primus that felt nice, as did his now well pressurized spike, which throbbed in the casing. But Cliffjumper wasn’t spiking yet. He wanted the connection. He guided Bee’s hand to his panel, grunting at the sudden pleasure of it opening and Bee fingering his connector.   
  
His charge surged, and he let the connector pop into Bee’s hand. Then he brought Bee’s connector to the panel, pushing the hand holding his own connector out of the way, running it across the port, the sparks sending energy currents shimmying to his core. Bee shuddered, little gasps coming from his vocaliser. Cliffjumper didn’t want to wait. He plugged in and pulled Bee back down.  
  
At once, he was bathed in intense data, as feelings and affection, desire and lust flowed from the yellow minibot like a tide. And he saw other things, the faces of strange mechs, foreign places. There were others more familiar, Iacon, scenes from the war. He saw Bee injured, smiling through his pain, resolutely pulling others through. He sensed goodness, kindness, strength; and above all a relentless admiration for himself.  
  
Cliffjumper could not help the energy flare which erupted from both his spark and field. He wrapped his arms tightly around Bee, energy streaming down the connection as Bee shuddered on top of him and flared his back. His own spark flared gain, hard, and he cried out, his optics offlining as the Universe went foggy and white.   
  
Then he was conscious only of Bumblebee, writhing gently on him, of Bee’s mouth caressing his neck, of the hand squeezing his connector. Cliffjumper moved with him, turning his head to one side and moaning happily as his fingers curled against Bee’s panels.   
  
Bee seemed to have forgotten his connector, lost in the sensations of his own output. Cliffjumper reached down and fingered Bee’s side, wanting now to fill Bee also with his own input. His hands found the panel; it opened and Cliffjumper grabbed Bee’s hand, guiding it. Bee leaned up and looked into his optics as the connector clicked in and Cliffjumper let go, pushing his hips up, allowing his own fierce wanting to stream into Bee.   
  
Bee tensed, shuddering. He almost overloaded – but Cliffjumper could feel him want to wait, to savour the ecstasy. His optics burned, the brightest cobalt blue, flickering with peaks of energy. But he held on, releasing a small flare instead. Pulling him down, Cliffjumper kissed him gently; affection scintillated between them, the gentle twang of spark energy mingling with the flow.  
  
Cliffjumper’s own spark flared again, his charge rising fast, intensely. The scent of ozone now filled the room. His residual energy reached a peak and he held it, releasing pulse after pulse of energy. Bee moaned and kissed him; and then they were writhing together, kissing frantically, pumping energy into each other, hands everywhere as energy flowed, mingling with fierce need and mutual appreciation.  
  
The pulses got faster, harder, each one penetrating new depths. Metal squealed as Bee’s movements grew stronger, more desperate, he felt the other minibot not able to hold on and not wanting to, wanting to flood him with energy and data. His own circuits swelled ready to burst and now his spike slid out and he ground against Bee, wanting him this way now too.   
  
But Bee was on the brink, his release imminent, and Cliffjumper couldn’t wait either. He grabbed Bee’s horns with both hands and thrust up, pumping energy in. Bee cried out, shivering and writhing hard. Then he went over, energy hammering through the connection, flooding Cliffjumper’s systems.   
  
Cliffjumper allowed overload to take him too, and a blue halo engulfed them both as sparks crackled loudly in the pungent air.   
  
…………………..  
  
Even as they held each other in the waves of overload, Bee felt Cliffjumper’s spike, huge and hard, pressed hard up against his front. He could not help feeling gleeful. The rumours about Cliffjumper were true! But Cliffjumper had not spiked for a while. Cliffjumper wanted to spike him. Badly. Bee could feel it – acutely.   
  
And Bee wanted it too. His charge was rising again already, his valve tingling. He let his own not insubstantial spike slide out and moved his hips, grinding their spikes together, shivering as Cliffjumper’s hands caressed his aft .  
  
Bee let the cover of his valve slide open and moved, so he could rub it against Cliffjumper’s spike, feeling the hardness, a surge coming through the connection as Cliffjumper shuddered. “Ride me!” Cliffjumper whispered huskily. His hands slid over Bee’s aft and settled on his highs, pulling them apart.  
  
Bee sat up and straddled Cliffjumper. They looked at each other, allowing a moment of affection to flow between the connections. With a simultaneous smile, they touched the connections, then their hands moved to each other’s chests. Their sparks flared together, and then energy translated to lust. Cliffjumper grabbed Bee’s hand and put it on his spike. He moaned and shuttered his optics as Bee massaged it, his valve widening, and trickling lubricant as the large appendage throbbed in his hand.   
  
Then Cliffjumper’s fingers were in his valve. Bee let go of the spike and arched back, pushing on to the fingers, the need for it to be filled hammering through the connection. Remembering the touch to his horn, Bee fondled his own horn, liking the effect on Cliffjumper as electric impulses streamed down from it and he ground against the fingers.  
  
Cliffjumper wriggled and Bee brought his head back to see Cliffjumper massaging his spike as the fingers went deeper. Bee moaned. “You want this in you?” Cliffjumper growled.  
  
“Yeesss …” Bee’s voice was a whimper.  
  
Then Cliffjumper was pushing his aft up and Bumblebee manoeuvred so his valve was poised over Cliffjumper’s spike. Slowly, he lowered on to it as charge rose straight away and energy started to pulse between the connections . Their sparks flared again, heat searing through both.   
  
Bee paused, offlining his optics. Then Cliffjumper’s hands were feeling for his. He clutched them and they started to move, Bee grinding on the spike.   
  
Sensations fritzed to Bee’s core, echoing down the connections. He pushed down, gripping Cliffjumper’s hands, grinding his hips, moving the spike around the smooth walls and moaning in intense pleasure as metal gently squealed. He felt Cliffjumper’s pleasure, his liking at the deep penetration and he ground harder, deepening it further.  
  
Impulses streamed up the deep valve node, shooting to his core and filling his spark with affectionate desire. Bumblebee arched up, his charge growing, need swirling through the connections. Cliffjumper grunted, and Bee felt his charge rise quickly. The cables twitched. Then his charge was peaking, residual energy throbbing, pulsing in time with his movements.  
  
This time neither released, instead letting the charge build higher, higher. A haze of pure settled pleasure settled, nothing in the universe existing except each others bodies. They stayed like that, the sensations so shared that it seemed to Bee they were no longer two beings, but one. Then Cliffjumper ‘s charge spiked, and he grunted and bucked. Bee felt his spike harden as he thrust in sudden urgent need, clanging against Bee.  
  
Faster and faster, harder and harder Cliffjumper’s spike hammered in. Bee swept to the edge, one with his lover, but then just as he was about to go over he saw him as a separate, wonderful being, the bot he was, his courage, his fierce determined nature. He saw the other minibots, felt love and loss, joy and agony, great strength but tenderness and need. Then they merged again and his spark flared as overload exploded out, the universe disintegrating into bright, dazzling light.  
  
.……….  
  
They had done it again and again. It had been bliss. Once more, Cliffjumper could not ascertain where he ended and Bee began. He offlined his optics, and tried to distinguish the sensations, the valve around his spike, the sparking connections, the energy flow, Bee’s need and affection. But it was no good. It was simply a cacophony of pleasure.  
  
And it felt so right! Cliffjumper’s spark flared and with a sudden urge he kissed slowly and deeply as they moved. The movements slowed, and then paused as Bee wrapped himself tightly around so their chests were pressed together.  
  
Their sparks began to swell and pulse in time with his own thrusts and the energy flow. The charge rose, both mechs approaching the edge, each lost in the other’s ecstasy. Then they were glowing hot, circuits brimming, Cliffjumper flared energy, closely followed by Bee but their charges were too high for an energy release to prevent the inevitable rapid ascent to overload.   
  
Just as they reached the brink, Bee looked up at Cliffjumper, into his optics. And this time he said it. “I love you Cliffie.”  
  
Cliffjumper could not say it back. It was too soon. If he could ever say such a thing at all. But it occurred to him then, oddly, that he had never told Huffer that, and maybe he should have, and that perhaps in time he would say it to Bee instead. For the time being, he surprised himself at the swathe of affection and appreciation and liking which transmitted through the connection.   
  
It tipped him into a long drawn out overload, the peak of which danced through his systems, reaching a slower but super-intense crescendo. His spark flared hard next to Bee’s before they swept over the edge together and they collapsed in a tangle of arms and cables, blissful waves bathing them in synchrony.  
  
…………  
  
 **EPILOGUE**  
  
Later, after a short recharge, they made sustenance in the kitchen, Bee fixing his special super-relaxing high grade cocktail and Cliffjumper using one of Gears’ old recipes for premium oilcakes. “I never knew he had such hidden talents!” Bee said, savouring the first one. “Whaddya mean? The mastery’s in the cooking!” Cliffjumper growled. But he was smiling.  
  
They ate and drank side by side in the spacious berth, amid the pleasant scent of fuel, lubricants and the scented oil burning on the bedside cabinet. “Carly gave it to me,” Bee explained. “It’s – relaxing.”  
  
“Right into this ‘relax’ thing aren’t you?” Cliffjumper said. Still, he had decided that, like most things Bumblebee, it was good for him. “At least you won’t have to waste space on so much berth any more,” he grinned.   
  
Bee put his cube down and snuggled on to his shoulder. “Does that mean you’re gonna stay here?” he asked.  
  
Cliffjumper put an arm around him, considering this; and it was obvious from the furrow in his optic ridges that he gave this serious thought. “Not yet,” he said. “Today’s been kinda – a bit of a surprise. We got a lotta catching up to do, Bee – I don’t think we should rush this.”  
  
Bee nodded. He was a tad disappointed, but what his new lover said made sense. “I’m gonna make a few changes in my life, though,” Cliffjumper went on. “Get myself a better place and all. Maybe near here. I might even …” he ground his denta, but in half jest. “I might even talk to Ultra Magnus.”  
  
Bee hugged him tightly. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you get set up,” he said. “On one proviso. You stay here officially, and you cement the minibot connection, at least two cycles per orn.”  
  
“Done!” Cliffjumper said.  
  
As they lay down together, the first light of the Iaconian morning streaming through the shutters, Cliffjumper glanced up. Through in the lounge, he could just see the minibot picture. Had it been in view before? Cliffjumper was sure it hadn’t. Just for a moment, it seemed that there was light in the optics, that sparked mechs stared from the frame and Cliffjumper heard the distinct words. “Be happy.” Then the picture became a picture again.  
  
“Happy? I’m _Cliffjumper!_ ” he muttered. Nevertheless, as he cuddled beside Bee and prepared to offline once more, he was as close to being just that as he could remember in a long, long time.


End file.
